My Heart I Give to You
by TimeTheFinalFrontier
Summary: Russia shares a meal with his best enemy during the Cold War. Warning for knife-play, gun-play, and cannibalism.


De-Anon from the Kink Meme.

Prompt:

Russia - Autocannibalism

"Russia eating himself. Particularly his insides.

And getting aroused.

Bonus if he eats his heart, with lots of focus on that.

Also, if you want it to be, don't hesitate to make it especially painful or masochistic."

Warning for knife-play, gun-play, and the obvious (cannibalism).

* * *

The cartridge clicked into place hollowly, and America let out a dark chuckle as he set the gun back on the table between them. "That's the sixth round, empty. You sentimental old fool."

Russia smiled. "Surely it is better than that time we played with a full barrel?"

America leant back in his seat and stretched himself out. "Coward."

"We play the same game every time," Russia whined. "I tire of bullets that do not hurt you when they kill. I propose a new game."

"Yeah?"

"What I do, you do. You would follow me to the end of the Earth, da?"

America reached for the gun and drew a bullet from his pocket. He slid it into one of the chambers and spun the barrel. He steadied his aim and pulled the trigger three times between Russia's eyes. "I suppose," he said, licking the barrel.

"Good. Now, Amerika, are you hungry?"

"Well, I suppose I could go for a snack. As long as it's not poisoned, that is. Or Russian."

"If you follow the rules of the game, what you will be eating will be all American. I cannot assure you that it will not be poisoned, though."

America narrowed his eyes in suspicion before relaxing back into his chair. "All right."

"You do what I do, or you lose."

"Try me, commie."

Russia giggled. "I play this game often when I am hungry and there is nothing else to eat."

"So, you play everyday?"

"Do not speak of things you do not understand, comrade."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Let us begin, da? First, we will take off our clothes."

America narrowed his eyes and did not move.

"If Comrade Amerika is scared, I will start."

"I'm not scared of anything, Russia_._" He shrugged off his jacket and undid his tie with one finger. Throwing the article at the Russian, he unbuttoned his shirt and sat back smugly.

Russia smiled and slipped out of his own coat. He undid his shirt and folded it neatly on the ground beside him. He snapped his fingers and a servant brought out a platter with two gilded knives. Russia took one for himself and slid the other to America. "Remember, do as I do."

"Whatever," America replied, taking his own knife and mimicking the motions of throwing it at Russia.

Russia let his smile fall away as he watched America's antics. Bracing his arm against the table, he pressed the blade of the knife against his forearm, pressing until it drew blood. With one quick flick of his wrist, a small strip of flesh came free, red and dripping. Closing his eyes, he used the knife to spoon it into his mouth. He groaned as it slid down his throat, raw and warm and as delicious as he'd remembered it be. "I would offer you a little," he said, "but I know that I leave a bad taste in your mouth."

America stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "So, what's your game?" He asked, snapping back into his role of arch-rival.

"This is the game. You take your knife, and you eat."

America slammed both of his hands down on the table and stood up partway. "Listen, I don't know _what_ goes on in your stupid, sick, twisted, perverted country, but where I come from, people don't eat themselves!"

"I know. With communism, you eat yourself, but with capitalism, you eat others."

"You sick fuck."

"Come, comrade. I know you are hungry. Eat." Russia gestured to America's knife. He snapped his fingers and once more, a servant brought forth a small salt shaker. America watched on, horrified, as Russia upturned it over his wound and began to lick it clean.

"It hurts," Russia explained, "but blood isn't salty enough to my taste. And besides... The more it hurts, the better it feels." He once more took up the knife and picked up where he started, pressing the blade into the torn flesh and peeling away another strip.

He took the meat in his hands and brought it to his mouth, moaning at the taste and throwing his head back in pleasure. He let the knife clatter to the floor and dug his fingers into his wound, tearing away another piece of skin with his ragged fingernails. As he brought the morsel to his lips, he once again forced himself to meet America's gaze.

The other nation stood up abruptly, overturning his chair and staggering backwards to press himself up against the far wall, a scared and trembling animal cornered and desperately seeking to escape.

Russia laughed and stood as his licked the blood off his fingers. He rounded the table, grapping America's knife on the way, and moved to stand in front of his wild-eyed enemy.

He took a step forward, and America darted to the side, seeking to run away. Russia was faster, through, and had his enemy pinned on the floor before the other had taken three steps.

"Where are you going, comrade? I thought you would eat with me?"

America shook his head and spat at Russia. "You-"

Russia cut him off with a knife to the other's throat, darting out to draw a drop of the other's blood before returning to its owner's mouth, sharp and snake-like.

With a _plop,_ Russia's heart fell out of his chest. Russia stared at it in mild concern and America started screaming.

"It does not do that often," Russia confessed, picking up the still-beating heart and turning it over in his palms.

"You twisted, psycho freak! I always know you were dead inside! Your fucking heart just fell out of your fucking chest! You-"

Russia pressed a tiny piece of heart-meat to America's lips. "Eat. This is my heart I give to you – eat and eat well."

America tried to shake his head, to move away, to refuse, but the slick organ slipped into his mouth at the insistence of Russia's fingers, and a soft hand at his throat forced him to swallow.

America started to shake as Russia brought the organ to his lips and began to suck at it, and lick it, and kiss it. He watched as Russia took a tiny bit into his mouth and swallowed reverently, before pressing it back into the hole in his chest.

The hole faded into little more than a ragged scar, and Russia sat himself against the wall as he tried to calm his racing pulse. America crawled off the table and began dressing himself.

"You will come back to play again soon, da?" Russia asked, all traces of the fire that had earlier consumed him gone.

America licked the blood on his lips and hesitated. He buttoned up his shirt and retrieved his tie before he answered. "Soon," he assured his enemy.

In the darkness, Russia smiled. "I look forward to it, comrade."

"As do I."


End file.
